The Only Hope
by HautkopfofUlm
Summary: Joubert's been dead for some time, but he's far from gone as his last victim and Guerrero discover when they find themselves in a cruel downward spiral. Dark short story in two chapters. Oh and dudes- REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This chapter is pretty much a characterization of the figure from the summary. The second chapter is a dialogue between Guerrero and Chance. It'll leave you with some answers, but not a lot of hopes. Or the other way around.

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The first time Chance saw her was when she strolled in his loft behind Guerrero. Guerrero went straight for the office, giving no explication other than the usual "Hey dude!". Both Winston from his office and Chance from the couch looked their unannounced guest over. The girl stood a few feet away from Chance and just finished a quick sweep of the place with her round, dark eyes, then glanced at Chance quickly before casting her eyes to the ground. She didn't even make eye contact, Chance noted. He knew better than to go and ask Guerrero for what he wasn't obviously too keen on telling, so he asked the subject in question herself:

"Hi. I'm Chance! And you are?"

"Uh, Gillian." She cast a glance over to where Winston and Guerrero accompanied their heated discussion with a lot of excessive gestures, then she crossed her arms before her chest. She wore a thick moss green satin jacket that seemed a bit too big on purpose, for she proceeded to burrow her hands in the long sleeves. From the size of her brown corduroy pants Chance estimated that she was actually quite skinny.

"So, Gillian, since I live here, that kinda makes you my guest for now. Wanna eat or drink something?"

"Thanks, but I'm good."

"You can sit down, ya know." Chance gestured towards the suite where he himself and Carmine were lounging. Gillian actually looked scared by the thought of getting even closer to the muscular man for a moment, then shook her head.

"We won't be long." Her dark, frizzy hair that looked like she cut it herself fell back into place to frame her face as if she tried to hide it. It suited her, but it made it impossible to tell how old she was. Probably older than she looked. Meanwhile Carmine decided that if the woman didn't want to keep him company on the couch, he would keep her company and he lazily loafed over to where she was standing. He sat down right in front of her and with his head tilted looked up at her, making soft puling noises. Gillian looked back at him as if he had just given away her darkest secret, but after a while her look softened and she gave him a weak smile.

"He doesn't do anything, you can pat him." Chance said almost as a request. He looked back and forth between his dog and his chosen new friend. He always admired the dog's empathy skills, but normally he would be bouncing out of control now trying to animate the guest to play with him or give him a belly rub. Usually the people in his apartment would have already succumbed to the dog's smile and were more than happy to give the dog the demanded attention. But Carmine just looked at her like he saw something Chance couldn't and Gillian didn't know what to make out of it. With Chance's inivtation she reached out and gently scratched him behind the ears. Carmine collapsed with a sigh against her legs.

Chance opened his mouth to ask her something else, when Guerrero came storming back out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Gillian jumped violently at the sound and for a moment Chance thought he saw her reaching for something under her jacket. _Haunted_ was the word that came to his mind when he saw her stressed mimic. She relaxed a bit when Guerrero gave her a reassuring smile, but her hand wandered up to her neck where its fingers found a fine scar. Chance reckoned she did this subconciously either to calm herself or when she felt abashed. When she noticed Chance studying her she quickly removed her hand and went back to hugging herself.

"Dude, how come you guys always expect my full cooperation when I can't even get the most simple information from you?" He waved the papers in his hands.

"Uuh, let me think 'bout that for a minute. Oh right- 'cause you can supply yourself with whatever information you need." Chance answered, chuckling.

"Dude, just 'cause I _can_, doesn't mean I should _have to_. Reciprocity, dude. Winston needs to learn it. Seeya!" And with the young woman on his tail he bounced out the loft.

Tonight, roughly four months after the first encounter, she was back. She hesitated when she walked in with Guerrero as though she didn't want to be there, but after she scanned the room to make sure the coast was clear she actually sat down on the armrest of the couch. Chance gave her a once-over from the office where he, Winston and now Guerrero were discussing some last-minute flaws in their plan for a job that was to go down soon. She was in all-black, tight clothes that showed how flimsy she was, but as he watched she wrapped herself tighter into her green jacket, shuddering. She didn't seem interested in what was going on in his office, but Chance noticed that Guerrero seemed to have a lot of interest in getting out of there as fast as possible - he kept glancing at the woman on the couch until he got caught up in the details of the elaborate security system he was asked to hack into. When he looked back at her, she was gone. He looked puzzled for a second, then simply wandered off the conversation and over to the couch where he was met by a whining Carmine.

Chance looked up as he heard Guerrero's _"Shit."_ and saw him kneel down behind the couch where he disappeared from view.

"Guerrero?" Chance and Winston went over to investigate and found Guerrero kneeling next to a half-conscious Gillian. It looked like she had passed out and slipped off the couch.

"Whoa, what happened?"

"A fever happened, dude." he snarled as he removed his hand from Gillian's forehead.

"She's got a fever? Why did you even drag her here, then?" Winston piped up.

"Not _now_, dude!" Guerrero snapped as he helped Gillian sit up and lean against the couch, then slapped her slightly in the face.

"Can we help? What do you need?" Chance asked, feeling responsible for not having noticed that the strange girl in his loft was sick enough to just collapse.

"What I need is to get her out of here. As for you-" he turned to look at Winston "-_You_ ordered _me_ here spontaneously for your last-minute shit and since she was with me, I had to bring her along. I didn't want to, and most certainly neither did she, so don't you _dare say another word_." Guerrero hissed the last few words from between his teeth, which showed Winston that he was pissed off. Winston actually meant to reply something, but was wise enough to shut his mouth when he caught Chance's look.

"I'm sorry, Gill. C'mon, let's get you outta here." As Guerrero helped her to her feet, Chance could see that her black pants were outfitted with a lot of pockets of different shapes and sizes and her belt with several clips to engage gadgets to. Where the hell had they been and what had they done there?

"Well, that was random." Winston stated when the odd pair had left. "Guerrero being sorry? Who the hell is she? And what kind of stuff is she involved in?"


	2. Chapter 2

Forgot the **Disclaimer**, ooops: The Fox is red, Guerrero feels blue, Human Target belongs to neither me nor you.

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"So, who is she?"

"Dude, go home." Guerrero meant to shut the door in Chance's face, but his foot in the doorway prevented that. Guerrero was in no mood for a fight, he was tired, worried, done with world and would've liked to just get plastered, if… and now Chance just wouldn't take his all too bright grin elsewhere.

"What's it to you?" Guerrero tried to make his lack of cooperation clear to the man in the door. What Chance saw, however was exactly what Guerrero felt: he wouldn't pick a fight. So Chance pushed himself past Guerrero and ambled towards what was Guerrero's idea of a living room. He could feel Guerrero's death glare on his back.

"Not cool, I know. But I brought beer?" He held up the six-pack like some kind of peace-offering. Guerrero still stood by his open door, door handle in hand. Maybe, Chance thought, what he had felt wasn't a death glare after all, it looked to him more like Guerrero was staring right through him. Finally he plopped down on the couch opposite to Chance, took a bottle of beer from him, put it on the table untouched and returned to his silent staring. Chance for once held his gaze, he wanted his answers.

"I wanna know who she-"

"Dude, what's it to you?" Guerrero shot back, just as before. Whenever they played their well-rehearsed game of an-answer-for-an-answer, Guerrero would never give his answer first. Chance knew his only chance to get anything out of Guerrero was to give up a bit of truth himself:

"I think you like her." Guerrero's reaction to this was as expected: zero. He pondered his words carefully.

"I thought that was about her, dude."

"It is. Your turn." Instead of answering, Guerrero went to the back of his loft and came back with two tumblers in one and a bottle of expensive vodka in the other hand. Time for the big guns, Chance thought, as the silence continued and Guerrero filled up the glasses with more than was customary or even passable. He sat back down on the couch, took an even less passable gulp, put his glasses on the table and rubbed his hands over his tired face. Suddenly the piercing eyes stared at Chance's.

"She's Joubert's daughter, Chance." Chance was good at hiding his emotions, but his jaw dropped nonetheless. He wanted to ask something, but Guerrero nodded and answered before he had found the words:

"As in his real daughter. I saw a DNA-result." Now it was Chance's turn to go for the vodka in his glass. He cringed, then finally formed some words:

"Wow. I mean, wow. We never knew back then." Then a thought came to his mind:

"At least I didn't. Did you?" Chance wasn't too sure all of a sudden if he wanted to know this much truth. Guerrero shook his head as he stared into his tumbler. Obviously he wasn't willing to ask Chance something more, so Chance didn't see how he would get the answers to all the questions in his brain. He had to try, though.

"How?"

"When we did our own little investigation on Joubert's death, I found someone who'd worked with the Old Man for more than ten years and he told me about an account and monthly transfers that never made it into the books."

"And you dug until you found her..." Guerrero just took another sip from his tumbler. "When?"

Suddenly Guerrero shot up.

"Dude, you got yourself an answer. How 'bout you take it and your ass out of here now." Chance wasn't too sure about Guerrero not being in the mood for a fight anymore. But he was angry enough to take his chances. Why the hell hadn't Guerrero come to him with this kind of a discovery? He stood to his full height, towering over Guerrero and looked him straight in the eye.

"No." From opposite sides of the table they stared at each other, tempers rising, until Chance realized that like this he would never get the answers out of Guerrero. He had to offer something more and swallow his anger for now, so he sat down again and looked up at Guerrero.

"You know that the Old Man basically considered me as his son. At least I thought so. Don't you think I have a right to know?"

"No." Guerrero shot back without hesitation. "You're not Junior anymore, you're Chance now. Your words, not mine. Grow up."

"Okay. _Okay_. Can I at least know how she is?"

"Worse."

"Don't you think you should get her to a hospital or something? Or that somebody should be with her at least?"

"She's doing okay, dude. There isn't much they could do for her anyway." Chance saw Guerrero's eyes wander briefly to the door that assumedly led to Guerrero's bedroom.

"Wait, she's _here_? Wow, you _do_ care for her."

"She's the Old Man's _daughter_, dude!" Guerrero stated fiercely as if that explained anything. In fact, Chance became more confused by the minute.

"Guerrero, what's going on here? Why's she here - and what the hell's got the Old Man to do with any of that?" Then the penny dropped. "She knows something about his death. Are you protecting her from someone? What does she know?"

Guerrero actually chuckled at Chance's cluelessness, but it sounded pathetic. He turned away from him and Chance saw him look down at his shoes.

"Dude, I think you missed a link there. When I told you how I learnt about her, I wasn't looking for _her_ – I was looking for Joubert's killer." He turned around again and locked eyes with his friend. Chance's eyes grew wide as the shock of his realization sunk in.

"You're telling me she- _she_ killed the Old Man? Why?" Guerrero shrugged.

"You don't exactly go 'round asking people why they put a bullet between their fathers' eyes now, do you."

"Well, _you_ would."

"Well, I didn't. Not only because I didn't want to end up like the Old Man, but because it's none of my business. And don't tell me you couldn't think of a reason or two yourself."

Chance still gaped in disbelieve, she had looked so harmless, even vulnerable. Then he shook himself out of his stupor.

"But he's been dead for what- almost two years now. What's he gonna do about her?"

"You don't seem to get it, dude!" He stared straight into Chance's eyes as he emphasized every of his next words: "Joubert will never really be dead."

That took Chance by surprise. To hear something like that from the man that usually let his past be his past was totally out of character. How long had he had these kind of thoughts? Not even, he, Chance, spent too much time nowadays on dwelling on his dubious past, but _Guerrero_ of all people?

"Look, I know we can't undo what he made us do… what we did. I mean at that time it was our choice. But now we choose to do better. We're proving him wrong, that's all we can do."

"That's not what I meant." Guerrero's eyes subconsciously flickered back to his bedroom for a split second.

"What, you think he sort of lives on through his daughter, is that it? And 'cause you turned against him, you'll have to turn against-"

"You don't understand zilch of this." Guerrero said in his calmest voice, sending a shiver down Chance's spine. "This isn't about me, dude."

"Okay. So _she_ thinks he lives on in her?" That seemed to hit the mark. For the first time in their conversation Guerrero showed a flicker of emotion on his face. It went from anger to deep sorrow, then it was gone.

"Dude, you gotta understand something here. The Old Man rose you as his son, so he used to go a bit easier on you than on the rest of us. I think the bastard took it out on his daughter all the more."

"You saying I'm responsible for what happened to her?"

"That's not what I said."

"She thinks I'm responsible with how he treated her? C'mon Guerrero, work with me-"

"DUDE!" Chance flinched. He couldn't remember Guerrero ever raising his voice, not only once. But right now he was obviously losing patience.

"You have _no idea_ what is going on, so stop making assumptions! This is _not_ about you, hell she doesn't even know who you are! It's about her and her father. _He's_ the only one responsible! He made her a fucking Mini-Joubert and… and she… she can't live with that, she can't live with what he has done to her, what he has made her, what she's done 'cause of him, she-"

Guerrero stopped himself in his rant, then suddenly stormed off to a far and dark corner of the loft that Chance couldn't see, but he could hear as Guerrero kicked a concrete pillar two or three times, then nothing. Chance just sat there, still under the spell of Guerrero's outburst and allowed himself a few minutes to come to terms with what he had just witnessed. He should've been satisfied since his annoying provocation got Guerrero talking at last, but this was not what he had wanted. He gave Guerrero the opportunity to let off some steam and gather his thoughts in some privacy, but when he didn't return after a few minutes, he went to look for him. He found his friend sitting in the dark at the base of the pillar, back and head resting against the concrete, staring into the distance.

"You won't go now, if I ask you to, wouldcha."

"Not a chance."

Guerrero kept staring. Chance sat down next to him and tried to read his face from the side. Normally Guerrero wasn't one to make a fuss, so what made him clam up like that now?

"One way or the other she really means something to you, I can tell from that little… speech of yours back there." No comment on that. Chance tried again:

"Guerrero, I think somehow you want me know all that stuff, but don't know how to put it. Why else would you've answered the door in the first place?"

"The beer, dude."

"Guerrero, please. Can't we talk like normal people, once, especially since this isn't about me or you?"

"We're not normal people, dude."

"Right now, you're normally upset about something and I wanna normally know why. It's got something to do with what happened to Gillian in the loft, doesn't it? That's not your average flu she came down with, you just returned from some kind of job when you came to the loft, so she must've been healthy then."

"More vodka." was Guerrero's reaction to this. When he returned to his spot, he didn't have the tumblers, but the bottle with him. He took another bounteous sip, then passed the bottle to Chance, who put it out of their immediate reach.

"Gillian actually found _me_. I think she noticed me dig around her online banking, so she came to see me. She had a vague idea 'bout who I was, guess the Old Man might've told her something. She's got skills with computers and… the rest." Chance nodded.

"What'd she want?" Guerrero swallowed a few times, then said very quietly:

"She asked me to kill her."

Chance's heart skipped a few beats. _She can't live with that_, that's what Guerrero meant. She really didn't want to live. Or did she, but felt she couldn't? There had to be a difference there. A million new questions formed in Chance's head. Guerrero probably wasn't ready for them, but he needed to know.

"Then… why is she still alive?"

"I made a mistake, dude. Delayed a decision that wasn't even mine to make. I told her… told her I'd do it if she helped me out with the job I had back then. She agreed. By the time we were finished it, I… I just couldn't do it." He turned his head and looked at Chance, eyes big with wonder. He had never found himself unable to pull the trigger. He felt so helpless. He couldn't kill someone who _wanted_ to die. How screwed up was that.

"Then what?"

"I apologized to her. Said I couldn't do it, and she'd have to find somebody else. Dude, at that moment she looked so desperate… … did you know that the desperation of people who don't want to die doesn't even come close to the one you see in the eyes of people who want to, but can't?"

"But why can't she? From what you told me, I assume she's a trained assassin, it should be easy for her to… to…"

"She does. Right now. Every day. The slowest suicide is to just wait for it to be over. She didn't know where to go, so I took her in and she helped me with a few cases since then. I was thinking, maybe she wants me to hold her back, you know, like that tiny glimpse of hope, that it'll get better someday? … But that fever, I saw that kind of thing before. Happens when two parts of your mind go into a strong conflict. Back in my mercenary days, there was this young boy, he was much too young, he… saw something… he just didn't get over it. It's like… he refused to live. He burnt up real quick and nothing would help him. He was dead within seventy-two hours."

"Are you telling me, Gillian could die tonight?"

Guerrero closed his eyes and said nothing for a long time.

"I don't know, dude. Sometimes I thought I saw her actually _live_, not just be alive. And I thought there was some improvement, but tonight was a mess. Something went really wrong and she got caught up in the middle. She did it out of instinct I guess, but she hates herself for it. All she knows is how to kill. This time she might just cling onto… whatever it is, but… one of these days… she might have… the strength to let go…"

Guerrero swallowed, but couldn't help getting choked up. He buried his head between his arms resting on his knees.

Chance looked at him. He felt deeply for his friend. This was fucked up. Guerrero wanted to help her, because he loved her, but couldn't bring himself to do it- because he loved her. Gillian couldn't do it on her own and relied on the normally cold-blooded killer to neutralize that last bit of tantalizing, intuitive hope that every human being feels.

"Guerrero, you seem to think she can survive this, so there's still hope. She's waiting for something."

"She's waiting for _me_ to let her go."

The moment he had fallen for her, he had made her dependant on him. Now they both suffered. They were both helpless. They just waited for it to end. Or rather they waited _for the other_ to end it.

"And will you?" Chance asked quietly.

"Not yet, dude. I can't."

"Guerrero, you'll have to make a decision at some point. You can't stay in that limbo forever."

"I know, dude…" Guerrero sobbed. "I'm the only hope she has…"

**the end**

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So, what do you guys think? Should I write a happier alternative ending, for the not-so-hopeless among you? And what do you think is going to happen to Joubert? Will he meet his destiny in Season Two, Episode One or will he make it out alive for all of us to await his comeback? Tell me in the comments!


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